


Trainee

by diversionary_tactician



Series: Actualization [3]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Academics, Angst, Anxiety, Battle Simulations, Developing Relationship, Dissociation, Distrust, Doubt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Finn Needs A Hug, Flight Simulations, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay Finn, Gay Poe Dameron, Group dynamics, Harassment, Hurt/Comfort, Lie Detector Test, Love Confessions, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Military Training, Military Uniforms, Panic Attacks, Physical Abuse, Poe Dameron Needs A Hug, Psychological Torture, Self-Doubt, Sex Talk, Sick Character, Sickfic, Slow Dancing, Space Flight, Sparring, Stomach Ache, Training, Uniforms, family is more than blood, simulations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 15:28:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7689916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diversionary_tactician/pseuds/diversionary_tactician
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poe and Finn have come far together.  Finn is just starting his training as a fighter pilot.  Yet his struggles are far from over, and his place in the Resistance is far from decided.  In fact, a whole new set of challenges awaits Finn and Poe. </p><p>This is a sequel to Actualization, so if you haven't read that one, this probably won't make any sense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I write for my own entertainment and education, and derive no financial benefit. I imagine that Disney owns the copyrights and trademarks for Star Wars. I do not hold any copyrights or trademarks associated with Star Wars or the characters, setting, or story lines depicted therein. However, I imagine those that do would appreciate your patronage.
> 
> Special thanks to [foolyoulovesomehow](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/foolyoulove) for her awesome beta reading and editing. 
> 
> Comments are greatly appreciated. I really enjoy reading responses.

It was the first time Finn put on the uniform in front of anyone and he felt a mixture of embarrassment and pride. The only mirror in their room was small, at eye level, and located inside the locker that served as closet and armoire. Even when he backed up all the way to the door so he looked like a tiny spec in the looking glass, he couldn’t see a full body reflection of himself. He required a second set of eyes to complete his inspection. “So what do you think?” he asked Poe, forcing himself to stand still as the other man’s eyes raked over him. Finn had gotten his hair buzzed short and tight again, in true military fashion. He was still a little skinnier than he’d been when they first met, but the uniform was starched and pressed. It was tailored to him and fit comfortably.

“You are drop dead gorgeous, is what I think,” Poe replied, his face splitting into a grin.

“No, really, be serious,” Finn insisted, cracking a smile, despite the admonition.

“Oh I am,” Poe replied. “Really though, it suits you,” he said his eyes dark with desire and a sort of pride that warmed Finn to his core. There was a playfulness to it, a reference to their history together, and Finn grinned at him in response. Poe moved toward him, wrapping an arm around the back of his neck and kissing him soundly. Finn groaned into the kiss as he wound his arms around Poe’s lower back. Best he soak up as much of this as he could now – Poe had warned him that they probably wouldn’t see much of one another while he was in training.

Poe’s fingers ghosted over the empty section on the chest of the uniform where Finn’s regalia would eventually be placed. The General would pin the Resistance’s highest award for valor to Finn’s chest once he completed training and officially joined the ranks. Finn’s badge would match Poe’s own due to his heroics during the fight on Starkiller Base. But for now he was equal to all his mates, as everyone started with a clean slate. 

Poe’s body was flush with his from chest to ankles, and he felt the enticing glide of Poe’s hips against his own causing delightful friction that made him swell within the confines of his crisp uniform. _The uniform. Oh shit_ , Finn remembered, forcing himself to pull away from Poe. “Wait, we can’t,” he insisted. Poe looked at him and raised an eyebrow, but didn’t move to close the slight gap Finn had put between them. The look on Poe's face was one that Finn had seen before, but never managed to decipher. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but also didn’t. These moments left Finn wondering what could possibly keep the notoriously loquacious man silent. Yet, it was never more than a moment of seeming indecision before Poe seemed to make up his mind and return to himself, as though nothing had happened. Finn had not asked.

Finn pulled back further. “I can’t be the one guy who shows up the first day of training in a rumpled uniform,” he insisted. Poe had to stifle a laugh. “What?” Finn demanded, put out that Poe found his dedication amusing.

“If your class is anything like mine was, showing up ‘rumpled’ will make the other tyros think you’re a badass. That’s all.” 

Finn couldn’t imagine why that would be, but he was hung up on something else. “Tyros?” 

The slang was commonplace among seasoned veterans. Also something Finn would do well not to repeat around his training class. “Oh, uh, trainee pilots, but just don’t call them that to their faces or you’ll get some glares, yeah? It’s impolite.” Poe looked a little embarrassed with himself that he’d let the pejorative slip in front of Finn, who was now a trainee pilot himself. 

“Anyway you’re probably right. Your training instructor will be looking to give you shit the first few days. No reason to spoon feed him any ammunition,” he acquiesced. “How about a dance, then,” Poe requested. Finn eyed him warily as he remembered that awful writhing mass from Jim’s birthday party. Jolon had been taking him in short infrequent trips to the rec room during off hours, allowing him to examine the space, and practice interacting with someone safe there. He could manage it now, though with a certain amount of nervous distraction. It was unlike Poe, however, to suggest a trip there.

“I don’t really. . .” Finn began a bit hesitantly. But Poe gave him a warm open look and put a hand on Finn’s face,cutting off his helpless stammering with a light kiss.

“I’ll show you how. I think you’ll like it; there’s music. How about this: you pick the music, and I’ll show you the moves,” Poe promised. Finn planned to say that he didn’t really know if he wanted to go to the Rec Room just then, but Poe obviously misunderstood his reservations. Though now that Poe mentioned it, he didn’t know how to dance either, and he couldn’t say for certain that it was something that interested him much.

Finn felt the nervous tension fade as it became clear to him that Poe was not suggesting they venture out. Poe had amassed a small collection of holos containing music once he’d discovered how much Finn enjoyed it, which gave Finn an opportunity to explore his own tastes. He regarded the loud angry songs of rebellion that dictated much of Poe’s formative years as noisy almost to the point of painfulness. Finn could appreciate the jaunty folk music that permeated most of the bars, and decidedly enjoyed the ballads of several different worlds. However, above all else, Finn favored orchestral music, and quickly found a beloved and much used holo.

He held it out to Poe who looked at the disk and smiled. Poe activated the holo with a simple swipe of his finger and put it down on the bed as a holographic orchestra popped up and filled the room with classical music. He offered a hand to Finn, who cautiously placed his own in the outstretched palm. 

Poe enclosed his hand, pulled him close, and started moving to the music. 

Finn tripped over his feet a bit at first, but Poe’s arm was wrapped around his back and Finn regained his equilibrium by leaning further into the solidness of the embrace. Poe picked up the pace as the music swelled, and Finn felt the air rushing against his face and a warmth in his chest. He stifled a laugh, half-embarrassed at his clumsiness, half-taken with the movement. Poe deftly continued to direct their next steps, unfazed when Finn trod on his foot again. The room was a blur of color around them. _Poe must be good at this_ , Finn decided, _to make it this much fun_.

As the music came to a slower, quieter refrain, Poe’s steps became smaller and easier to follow, The world came back into focus around them, but to Finn it might just as well not have existed. As their movement slowed and became more predictable, it also became even more intimate. Finn felt the contact through his whole body, even the places they weren’t pressed against one another. “On Yavin 4, there were dances,” Poe said, his voice lullabye-soft; at least that’s what Finn suspected a lullabye would sound like, given what he knew of them. There was something in his tone, something heavy, almost painful. What was it? Nostalgia? Sadness? “To send people off when they left,” he added.

Finn kept his voice soft too, not wanting to break the spell and throw them headlong back to reality. “I’m coming back. In fact, I’m not even leaving. Not really,” he reassured Poe. He simultaneously felt that he was going to be slingshot into space without a suit and that training would be more comfortable and familiar to him than anything he’d yet encountered on D’Qar.

Poe smiled at him, not the trademark devil-may-care-grin, but a private one that made his mouth wrinkle at the corners and his eyes go soft. “You’re going to be amazing, you know,” Poe said, with that look that made Finn feel like the most important person in the galaxy. “And I’m not going anywhere either. Just so you know,” Poe told him. Finn didn’t know what that was supposed to mean since Poe was constantly off-planet on missions; the earnest way Poe said it, though, made it feel like some sort of protective talisman that left Finn warmed from the inside out. _There is nothing I wouldn’t do for this man_ , Finn thought, as he rested his head on Poe’s shoulder and allowed him to lead. 

Finn realized some time later that the song had ended. “Poe? How long have we been dancing without music?”

“Hm, not sure,” Poe replied, as he disentangled himself from Finn just enough to smooth the uniform jacket with his hands. They untwined, and Poe collected the holo before fixing him with a mischievous look. “But I _am_ sure that when you get back, I’m going to wrinkle the hell out of that uniform.” Finn just rolled his eyes and smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finn's training begins and it's not exactly what he was expecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [foolyoulovesomehow](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/foolyoulove) for her awesome beta reading and advice on the Sergeant.

When Finn arrived at the Parade Ground with his regulation duffle at his side, light due to his still sparse collection of personal possessions, the nervous excitement was still with him. He was one of the first to arrive, though a few equally green looking recruits were mulling around with a similarly awkward confusion regarding where to put themselves. One of the differences that Finn noticed at once, which threw the Rebel army and the First Order into sharp relief, was that among the five recruits that had arrived early, two of them were not human. His fingers brushed over the worn paper in his right pocket and he decided he’d have to remember to add that to his list later. 

Two of the recruits struck up a nervous conversation. Others began to arrive in ones and twos. Some had their chests puffed out all false bravado and over-loud conversation; others looked all of five seconds from losing their breakfasts. All in all, Finn was pretty pleased to find that among this group, he didn’t stand out. He wasn’t the tallest or the shortest, the fittest or the scrawniest, the most or least visibly nervous. He also had the good sense to keep to himself, observing the others interact rather than taking part. He had the distinct feeling they were being watched. As someone who had grown up with constant observation, Finn had developed a keen eye for situations that were surveilled. The wide-open setup was a clear giveaway.

A sharp whistle and a shout to line up nearly gave two or three of the recruits a heart attack, and a boy with big ears seemed especially startled. Finn found this task laughably easy, and put himself at attention in a convenient space with his bag on the ground at his right side. To his dismay, many of the other recruits descended into chaos, disorganization, and outright calamity - at least that’s what it looked like to Finn’s trained eye. Once the bedlam had resolved itself Finn could tell from his peripheral vision that several of the recruits still hadn’t managed to get themselves to any kind of attention. Hell, one or two hadn’t even managed a parade rest. 

The man who had shouted, bulging with muscles that seemed more for show than for any kind of practical utility, again called for them to scatter and get back in line—this time, less like a bunch of shit-for-brains recruits. Everyone scattered and then there was shouting for them to get back in line; again, Finn placed himself in line with no difficulty. This go at it was better, but still nothing for anyone to be proud of. The man with the muscles seemed to agree, if the disgusted look on his face was any indication. Having experience with Drill Instructors in the past Finn had a good idea about what was coming next - shouting and probably some general insults. He relaxed into the experience, expecting they were going to be at it a while given that performance, while privately hoping that the man’s eyes would not linger on him for too long. Now was not a time he wanted any sort of attention. 

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Look what they sent me: a bog dweller,” Finn had no idea what that meant but a tall thin creature with light green skin pulled itself up taller and bore its teeth, in what was surely a sign of aggression. The Drill Sergeant had obviously hit a nerve and Finn could swear he saw a note of pride cross his features. Finn wasn’t especially surprised, the man had obviously been trying to get under their skin and he was succeeding. 

“And you, kid, do you even meet the minimum registration age?” the S.O. snapped at the big-eared kid, who looked no older than sixteen and flinched every time the guy raised his voice. “I asked you a question, recruit!” the S.O. screamed in his face causing the kid to shake his head and skitter backward out of line. “No, I mean yes, yes I’m an adult in the eyes of my people,” he stammered. “Yes what?” the S.O. demanded with an edge of threat in his voice that left Finn rattled even though he wasn’t the one getting shouted at. The kid looked around for help and Finn felt bad for the kid, an impulse which would have been dangerous as a Stormtrooper, but was probably an acceptable response here. Finn knew that now was not a time to speak up, but he tried to will the correct response into the kid’s brain. Finally, after a painfully long time it dawned on the kid and he cautiously said, “Yes, Sir.” 

“It’s not Sir, you shithead. It’s Sergeant. Master Sergeant. Useless, the lot of you,” the S.O. scoffed, leaving the kid to quietly collect himself and get back in line.

“And then there’s the Stormtrooper,” The S.O. said, his eyes boring into Finn with a personal hatred that shouldn’t have been possible from someone who didn’t even know him. Finn felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. He wondered for a second whether this was a very strange nightmare, instead of reality. It was every fear that haunted him, that someone here would see his difference and hate him for it. That someone would notice that he didn’t belong among the rebels. And mere minutes into his training, all eyes were on him, his fellow recruits gaping at him openly. Finn kept his face front and his position stiff, just in case this wasn’t a nightmare he could simply wake up from. He could feel a rivulet of sweat slowly trickling down his back, between his shoulders. 

“That’s right. We’re training traitors now.” The S.O. spared a glance at the other recruits as his comment hung in the air for a moment like a sour smell. “You may be some kind of celebrity for blowing up a chunk of rock, but I had three sisters that you fuckers killed. No chunk of rock makes up for that, no matter how strategically valuable it is. Anyone else have family or friends that he and his buddies annihilated?” he asked. There were murmurs of agreement. “What was that?” he bellowed. “Yes, Master Sergeant,” came a chorus of replies, from at least half of the training group. 

“In the end it doesn’t matter because only some of you, only the least worthless of you, are actually going to become pilots.” he said. Finn was still reeling; he couldn’t process quite what had happened and what was going to happen now. But it was clear to him, as it was to everyone, that he was not supposed to be one of those pilots. 

As a Stormtrooper, Finn had never quite fit in. When he’d first deployed, the first real soldier he’d met had said, “You’re on the outside, and you’ll always be looking in and wondering why you don’t belong.” He’d been right then, right about Finn and his life with the Stormtroopers. When he and Poe made their daring escape, when they had functioned together almost automatically like two halves of the same whole, he’d allowed himself to consider the possibility that he wasn’t broken. A part of him - a stupid, childish, fanciful part of him - had thought that the problem was that he’d been fighting for the wrong army all his life. He’d been a Stormtrooper when he was destined to be a rebel soldier. 

Once again he was confronted with the cold hard reality that the problem wasn’t his surroundings; the problem was him. And it always would be. What would the other soldiers think of him now, now that they thought of him as the guy who was complicit in killing their fathers and sisters and friends? It was clear that Finn was all alone in hostile territory.

The S.O. had given some of the other soldiers shit too, but not in a way that isolated them. If anything the poor sods who’d been picked on would likely get commiseration from their fellows for having been unlucky enough to catch the S.O.’s eye. Finn knew better than to think that would apply to him. At a time when creating unit cohesion was supposed to be essential, he had been very clearly designated as the odd man out. 

In his distress, he’d missed a good chunk of the S.O.’s speech. The man was still talking, though no longer to Finn. With a monumental effort he forced himself back to the moment. Whether he’d missed more insults aimed at other soldiers, their bunk assignments for the next few weeks, or a recipe of Galien Pie, Finn could only have guessed.

“You all came here to be soldiers, to bring justice to the galaxy, to fight the good fight. You may think that you are the Force’s fucking gift to the resistance but right now the only thing you are is a liability that will get our real pilots shot out of the sky. The sand cruiser you flew black planetside is not the same as an X-Wing. You want to have an ego, you shelve it until you have your wings. For the next several weeks your limits will be pushed, your endurance, your tolerance, your ability to follow orders, as well as whatever intelligence you can scrape together between the lot of you. And personally, I don’t think half of you have a fucking prayer.” 

Finn heard the inherent ‘prove me wrong’ like a familiar unspoken refrain. He also knew that it wasn’t supposed to apply to himself. Yet, Finn was a soldier. It would take work, but if he could prove it, demonstrate his worth and his loyalty, maybe, just maybe, he’d be accepted among them even if he’d never be one of them. He’d done it once before, almost flawlessly. He could do it again. 

“You will wake up, go to chow; immediately followed by one hour of PT, you will then sit for classes in a range of topics including astrospace physiology, flight regulation, astrophysics, statistics and telemetry; followed by more PT; and a break for chow. In the afternoon you will have hand-to-hand combat, weapons training, and sparring. Three hours of flight simulation; another break for chow; then two hours of battle simulation. This amounts to sixteen hour days. If you’re smart you’ll spend the other eight hours in your fucking bunks. If not, that’s your own damn problem,” he continued. “Do I make myself clear?” the S.O. asked.

There was a chorus of “Yes, Master Sergeant,” followed by an order to run laps, which was immediately and thoroughly obeyed. As Finn ran, and felt the hostile looks of his fellow trainees, he could feel the blood pounding in his ears, and it had not a thing to do with the run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave some love in the comments. They're always a blast to read.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Training is nothing like Finn expected it would be. 
> 
> Warnings for physical, verbal, and psychological abuse, peer-on-peer harassment, abuse of power, social isolation, anxiety, depression, and vomiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience in waiting for new chapters of this fic and of [Burnout](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7191563/chapters/16321736). I want to let you all know I'm still working on them and that both these works will eventually be completed. Chapter four of Trainee is written and just getting an editing job. Chapter four of Burnout is also written with just some reworking needed. I also have another short one-shot written in this universe that I may or may not release. Please leave comments, they keep me motivated to turn out chapters. 
> 
> Special thanks to [foolyoulovesomehow](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/foolyoulove) for her awesome beta reading and editing. She really encouraged me to include more dialogue in this chapter and I think you can really see the difference.

By the end of the first week, everyone was hurting. They were made to run miles loaded down with tons of equipment. Finn found that his pack was nearly ten kilograms heavier than everyone else’s but he didn’t complain. He bore the extra weight, and he finished his run with the others. His shoulders ached where the straps had bitten into them and his feet were sore and blistered. After only two days there was blood in his boots. They were given every possible calisthenic, cardio exercise, and drill imaginable. His fellow trainees were frustrated, exhausted, and angry - with no one to be angry at but themselves, for getting into this. All of that would have been fine. In fact, they were conditions that Finn performed spectacularly well under. What was different, what changed, what made it indescribably painful, was when the S.O. made them all stand in a line on the empty flight deck. 

It was a terribly indefensible position for a squadron to be in, but useful for training purposes. The intention, Finn knew, was that the instructor would have everyone directly in line of sight, but the only person who the S.O. was likely to concern himself with seeing was Finn. Finn was painfully aware that he had no place to hide. The S.O. gave them shit for whatever they screwed up that day, and even occasionally handed out a little bit of praise to anyone who had performed well. Yet, when it came to Finn, the game was completely different. The attacks had nothing to do with his performance, at least not usually; they were personal.

“You think that simulation performance is going to get you a pair of wings. There are no ace pilots that want your ass badly enough to put up with you being a worthless shit here, so think again,” the S.O. shouted at him. Apparently, sensing Poe was a weakness of his the S.O. brought the pilot into his vitriol every chance he got. 

“The commander sent you here because you’re a fuck up,” he’d say. Or “At least you’re no longer getting under foot with the Command. You’re just here to be kept out of the way so you don’t waste anyone’s time but mine,” another personal favorite. 

Finn had chosen to enter training, had begged the General for this opportunity for months. Logically, he knew that. Still, he was having a hard time listening to his better angels, with doubt creeping in on him and his heart aching at the mention of Poe. After leaving medical he’d often feared that he was in the way. He knew Poe had pulled back his workload when he was unwell. Without Poe there for reassurance, old reservations began to haunt him. Maybe Poe really was better off without him around, and was just too kind to say so. As if the doubts these barbs engendered weren’t enough, they made it clear to his fellow recruits that he was aside, apart, different.  


Finn’s only solace was in his academics, which was a surprise to him. He learned that he was actually good at math. It wasn’t something he’d expected, but all the units were standard, common forms of measurement. The First Order had never seen fit to teach him anything terribly advanced, only enough to know how to do his relatively menial job. This opportunity to expand his knowledge was paradigm-shifting. He kept his mouth shut of course, didn’t answer questions, or share his scores. The instructors who taught academic subjects seemed largely indifferent to him, unlike the Drill Instructor, so no one minded that he was extraordinary. They were good to him, his telemetry instructor even suggested that he might make special ops if his fieldwork was anything like his academics. _If only they knew_ , Finn thought glumly. It felt good to be recognized again -- an empty, temporary, sort of pleasure, because he still couldn’t seem to fit in -- but good all the same.

At first, Finn tried to find a place among the other recruits who were taking the worst hits in training. They could have a kind of camaraderie he figured, and help each other through. Yet, from practically the beginning, most of the other recruits iced him out, pretended like he was a ghost, and afforded the same treatment to anyone who so much as passed a friendly glance with him. Even the other handful of recruits who were also struggling obviously wanted nothing to do with him. Aside from him, the big-eared kid, whose name he learned was Geatsi, was obviously suffering the worst in training, behind in the academics and plagued by headaches from all the yelling.

A little over two weeks in there was an especially bad day for everyone. Usually at night some of the recruits would play a few rounds of dice or cards before turning in, however, today everyone was lying in a heap in their bunks, arms slung over foreheads, a few limbs dangling limply from beds as their owners were too exhausted to even drag themselves fully onto the bunks. Finn was unwrapping the old gauze from his feet and cleaning and rewrapping his blisters. Tonight however, he knew there was someone in the training group who had it a hell of a lot worse than he did. Geatsi was huddled into a fetal position on the bunk bed above him, shockingly pale, his brow scrunched up with pain. It was hard not to feel for the kid. He’d tripped and landed on a landmine in the simulation exercise today, blowing up himself and two of the other trainees who were none too pleased to be eviscerated in front of the S.O. through little fault of their own. 

The S.O. tore the three recruits apart, shouting right up in their faces, spittle flying everywhere, and when the S.O finished reaming Geatsi out and they were dismissed, one of the recruits he’d accidentally blown up had lobbed a few choice profanities at him and the other had thrown him a bitter glare. When it was finally over the kid put his face in his hands for a long moment, before staggering back to the bunks, spent and obviously in real pain. He’d felt around his possessions almost blindly, looking for something and not finding it. For a terrible moment Finn though the kid was going to break down in tears, but instead he crawled into bed, tucked himself into a tight ball, and held his head.

Finn warred with himself for long moments wondering what if anything he could do to help. Surely someone needed to do something, but no one seemed to notice or care. Everyone was too tired, too invested in their own discomfort and dark moods. Finn got to his feet, and hesitantly put a hand on the boy’s arm. Geatsi was facing the wall and flinched at the unexpected touch before relaxing into it, his eyes still closed, brow furrowed with pain. He was so pale that his freckles stood out like little sparks of firelight across his nose and cheeks. Finn rubbed his arm gently for a moment or two and saw that Geatsi’s breathing got deeper and more even. That was good. In a soft whisper he suggested, “Before, you were looking for medicine right, to help your head? Why don’t you tell me where you saw it last and I’ll try to find it for you, okay?” he suggested.

At the sound of his voice, finally understanding just who had leant the comforting hand, Geatsi jerked sharply to escape the touch, drawing further in on himself. “Leave me alone,” he snapped, before breathing in a pained hiss at the sound of his own voice in his ears. Stung and aching, Finn did as he was told. He tried hard not to hear the kid’s hiccuping sobs for the hour after that until the boy finally lapsed into sleep. After that Geatsi kept the capsules somewhere he could find them more easily, and Finn didn’t try to help anyone out no matter how much they seemed to need it. 

During training, on the occasions when Finn screwed up, which he aimed to make rare enough but found to be nearly impossible while playing a rigged game, the entire group was punished. Anyone who hadn’t hated him before certainly didn’t look too kindly on him after getting laps added to their PT because he was too slow, or too soft, or too stupid. It made the simulations torture. As a Stormtrooper, the simulations were the thing he’d excelled at most. He’d been a kind of superstar, back in his youth. It was why they’d made him leader of his little training group. He’d loved the simulations back then. They were as effortless as walking and as rewarding as flight. It was a place where he got to try his mettle against a worthy opponent, and it was a computer game so it didn’t really matter much who got shot, as long as it wasn’t someone he was responsible for. Now, when no one would work with him, he was dying all the time. Even though the deaths were simulated and not actually physically painful, they wore on him, eroded his morale and resolve.

Now, he watched as the others learned to communicate, as they became a unit, a group. He died at least a dozen simulated deaths in those first weeks because no one would work with him, leaving him the lone sitting duck. The others took turns practicing as team leaders and Finn waited for one of them to do what he had all that time ago with Slip, to say “you don’t have to like him but he’s on our team and we don’t leave people behind.” No one ever did. He half-expected the S.O. to call it quits. If they wanted to torture him in their free time then fine, but this was affecting their ability to fight. It wasn’t just hurting him, it was making them all bad soldiers. Yet, day after day no matter how detrimental to the group, the S.O. seemed to treat it with silent approval, like everyone was passing some test that no one was supposed to talk about. In private moments, he wondered if there had been some quiet conversation between the S.O. and a team leader, “We’re only as strong as the weakest member of our army.” These people weren’t any better than the Stormtroppers, he thought bitterly. In fact, they were worse. At least the First Order gave every Stormtrooper a chance to prove themselves.

They all started getting their call signs. Not together, just one or two at a time, as the days progressed. Finn dreaded getting his own. He assumed it would be bad, but nothing could have prepared him for what was coming. The first time the S.O. barked 2187 at him, Finn stopped in his tracks. He felt the blood drain from his face and his vision grey at the edges. For a moment, it was like all the air had been sucked out of the universe. Finn didn’t know how he’d kept it together. He didn’t remember how he got one foot in front of the other again. He didn’t know how he made it through that run, now naught but a big black hole in his memory. That night he woke up the whole bunk with a strangled cry. Anderson, the woman who slept below him, kicked the underside of his bunk and several angry groans ordered him silent as he lay there, still half-engrossed in the nightmare, trying to remember how to breathe. The nightmares didn’t stop, and panic started creeping up on him at random times. He lay awake at night, drifting in and out of a light doze, too tense about disturbing the others to get real sleep. 

For those first three weeks it was all talk, verbal insults, mind games, shouting. He couldn’t say what it was, maybe the S.O. was disappointed that he hadn’t broken more publicly, or had just tired of having to look at him day in and day out. Yet, the first time he was standing in line and the S.O.’s fist sunk into his soft tissue beneath his rib cage Finn ended up on his knees in the line, more out of surprise than anything else. Being verbally harassed and menaced by his superiors was not foreign to him, in fact it was par for the course. But even in all his time as a Stormtrooper no commanding officer had ever hit him, or made him feel this physically threatened. Still, he could get through this. He _would_ get through this, because he was going to be a pilot if it killed him (a possibility that he now seriously considered). He tried not to notice the pressure on his chest and the tremor in his hands. He feigned interest in his food during their time in the mess and pretended not to feel a persistent nausea in the pit of his stomach. He silently berated himself for not holding up better under the pressure.

They’d been learning to fight since the beginning of training, hand-to-hand and weapons training. In those areas Finn excelled when left to himself. Sparring, however, was a problem. As a Stormtrooper, Finn had learned the hard way that nothing was worse than beating his comrades in the ring. Back in his Stormtropper days, people who had been almost friends before sparring matches looked at him with contempt after he’d won. There was more than enough contempt aimed his way already. He was a better fighter than nearly any of the green recruits he was training with now, but they didn’t know that. He made sure to put up at least a little bit of a fight, and decided which hits to take and which ones to dodge. He was certain that the S.O. could see he was doing this, especially given his obvious demonstrations of proper technique. _Don’t say anything_ he wished silently _please, please don’t say anything_. 

As though the S.O. had heard his silent wish and decided to crush it under his boot with special malice, the man took up his taunting with renewed fervor. Except it wasn’t Finn he went after, it was his challengers. 

“You stupid space trash, can’t you see the Traitor’s playing with you! You gunna let that Stormtrooper dance around you pulling punches?” the S.O. shouted. “Why don’t you show that punk what you’re made of, unless this is what you’re made of. A whole lot of nuthin,” he taunted. Finn threw himself into it harder, trying to make like he’d dropped the act, while still going down. This only made his opponents angrier, and added fire to the S.O.’s barrage of abuses. Bereft, Finn tried winning. Apparently wiping the floor with his sparring partners only made them angrier. No matter what he did, he couldn’t appease his fellow trainees or the S.O.. The recruits hated him for winning and hated him more for having the audacity to throw fights. 

The more dangerous knowledge, however, was that Finn was an acceptable target and that he would let the others get a few hits in on him to avoid a conflict. Two or three of his fellow trainees seemed to take special delight in having a way to blow off steam. Getting caught alone outside the ring became a dangerous endeavor.

Poe and Snap and Jess and the other rebel soldiers, they weren’t like this. This wasn’t them. Finn repeated this to himself like a mantra, but a niggling nagging voice added _Was it?_ treacherously to the end of that thought. They must know about this. They’d all gone through it, after all. Poe then, knew this was happening in his home, and he let it. More than that, he must think it was okay, because he’d sent Finn off without a word of warning. 

Finn saw Poe only in brief snatches of time, passing one another in the halls or a few moments in the mess. Poe didn’t kiss him, or linger long in his presence, barely spoke to him really. Just a quick, “How’s it going?” like they were strangers, belied only by a warm look in his eyes or the brief brush of his thumb over the back of Finn’s hand when he thought no one was looking. He started to wonder if he was imagining the warmth or if it was actually there. Those were the times when Finn felt hot tears push at the back of his eyes and his throat constrict. He forced a smile. “It’s fine,” he’d say, or “it’s good,” an obvious lie. When he knew he looked the worst and was moving like he hurt, thanks to the bruises beneath his uniform, he’d whisper “Nothing I can’t handle.” Poe looked proud of him then. It made Finn feel sick inside. 

Oddly enough once his fellow trainees realized they could hit him, they stopped freezing him out, and Finn found himself missing the silence. The other trainees talked about all kinds of things in their meager off hours. They talked about their home planets, their aching muscles, the quality of the food, their families, but mostly sex. Finn found a lot of the things they talked about confounding, because the things they described weren’t things he’d done with Poe at all.

“Come on Traitor, spill it, what’s Dameron like” Anderson goaded him from the bunk below. He’d tried to ignore these obvious invitations for trouble in the past and knew that it was of little use. Geatsi shifted uncomfortably above him. Finn suspected he was doing his best not to hear this. “Twack” a boot connecting with the underside of his bunk. Anderson liked kicking at it when he had nightmares or didn’t satisfy her intrusive personal questions. 

“He’s nice,” Finn answered. He barely spoke these days and his voice sounded strange in his ears. He knew that it wasn’t what she wanted to hear. He knew that it wasn’t going to be enough to shut her up or get her to stop beating up on his bed. Thinking about Poe, ached like a gaping void in his chest. He didn’t want to talk about this, especially not now, especially not to them. 

“Don’t be such a prude,” one of the guys called from another bunk. “Details, Eight-Seven. What’s it like getting fucked by an Ace Pilot, inquiring minds want to know.” It was probably Kent, the muscley one with the stupid mustache. This was the same one who’d cursed out the kid for accidentally blowing him up that time in the Sim. The comment drew snickers and attention from some of the other bunks. Finn knew it was a trap, that nothing good could come of answering, but there was no good option and he was curious and even a little confused and hurt about why Poe had never told him about all these things everyone else seemed to know about and to want. 

“We don’t do that,” he answered, hoping this would be enough to end their interest, enough to foreclose this terrible topic for good. He remembered that feeling he’d had about his relationship with Poe, like there was supposed to be something more between them, wanting to crawl inside of Poe, to be a part of him. He’d thought it was wrong before, something off about him, about his upbringing or maybe his brain was just a little broken. Now he realized it something most of his fellow trainees had actually experienced. Why hadn’t Poe wanted to share that with him? He didn’t understand.

“I guess Dameron has some taste,” Kent - yes definitely Kent - mused, “Probably can’t bring himself to stick his prick in a Trooper, even if he can tolerate having one around.”

Finn had no defense, no response, and sadly, no better explanation. He thought he knew Poe, but now he wasn’t sure he knew anything. Finn didn’t know what to say to Poe on the few rare occasions when they bumped into each other these days, and he carefully avoided even accidental contact. Touch was harder for him now than he could ever remember. Thankfully, no one seemed to want to go near him, unless it was to do him harm. Being on guard was essential to his survival. He seriously doubted what he was doing here. Was this what the Resistance was all about? Who were these people that were so casually cruel? Did he really want to fight with them? To be one of them? He didn’t know. 

Things came to a head after a particularly rough day of training. The simulation hadn’t gone well for anyone that day and Finn could see that everyone was feeling the pressure. Three recruits, though, took their frustration out on him in the bunks. They had him cornered, and after several hits and bearing the tight trapped feeling in his chest a few moments too long, he gave up all pretense of weakness, leaving one of the recruits with a broken arm and another with a concussion and ugly bruising across one cheek. He was bleeding and roughed up but not too much worse for the wear when the S.O. came in on the scene and broke it up, hauling Finn bodily to his feet and shouting at the others to get down to medical. 

Finn was terrified in anticipation of the S.O.’s next move. He was half-marched, half-dragged to the S.O.’s private office and he was lucky there was nothing in his stomach because he really felt like he might puke. The door shut with an audible click and the S.O. rounded on him. “You ever hurt one of my trainees again and you’ll be out on your ass, you understand?” the other man snapped. Finn looked at him helplessly. Anyone could have seen that it was three on one, completely unfair. He could also see that that didn’t matter to the only person who had any power -- both the power to discourage this in the future and the power to decide if he’d get to be a pilot. He still believed that if he took everything the S.O. threw at him the man would have to pass him through, however grudgingly. If it meant taking a few more beatings, he decided he’d have to swallow it. “Yes, Master Sergeant,” he replied.

“You can pull that shit in front of the trainees, the command, that pilot you’re leading around by the dick, but don’t pull it with me. I know what you are. You’re a traitor, to them, to us, to yourself. Now get out of my sight,” the S.O. ordered him. Hurting and hollow, Finn turned and left. He ached all over, down to his soul.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One bends; one breaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments! They really got me motivated to get a lot done. Chapters 5, 6, 7, & 8 of Trainee are now written and in the process of getting a nice once over by [foolyoulovesomehow](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/foolyoulove) and me. I'm going to try to return to my every Sunday routine. These chapters were tough to write but important. I hope you all enjoy them. I'm also working on Burnout. Please continue to share your thoughts in the comments section. They are all very much appreciated.

Finn was in a tailspin. He was cut off from all the things that had initially provided him stability. He hadn’t seen Poe in days. He had no access to Jolon, or medical, or anything. 

After their first bungled attempt, his fellow trainees were hesitant to jump him in their off hours, but the reprieve was short-lived. Finn quit fighting back out of fear that the S.O. would make good on his word and end Finn’s prospects of being a pilot. He was too tired for it anyway, and bruised enough that it hardly seemed to matter. Geatsi - whose codename was Bug due to the way he ‘bugged out’ every time the S.O. raised his voice - quietly slipped him a water bottle, some painkillers, and a whispered apology that night after the others had gone to sleep. After quietly taking another beating in the bunks, Geatsi helped Finn to get back to his feet, with an apologetic look on his face. It earned the kid a couple of glares, but it turned out Geatsi was good at the flight simulations as long as no one was shouting at him, so none of the other trainees were inclined to give him real trouble. “This isn’t okay. . .you should tell someone,” he whispered. 

“No,” Finn replied, a little too quickly. He’d come this far, and he was going to finish. What he’d do after he finished he didn’t know yet, but he wasn’t willing to run from the training. In a way he felt like he was getting his due. It didn’t take too many times being called a traitor for him to believe it truly and deeply. After all, a part of him had believed it long before he’d ever started this nightmare. His previously excellent scores in his academic subjects slipped. He was barely eeking out a place in the middle. It was hard to focus on anything when he couldn’t get much sleep and he was constantly waiting for the next attack to come, be it in the ring or out. Everything hurt. He felt like one big walking bruise. He’d basically stopped trying in the simulations. Still, dying took its toll on him each and every time. 

As the stress gripped him more and more completely, the nausea and pain in his stomach became impossible to ignore, and he spent several mornings puking in the ’fresher. The sight of the food at chow made his gut clench, so Geatsi ate most of the stuff on his tray so the lot of them wouldn’t get punished for his failure to clear it. Finn was grateful. He and Geatsi weren’t exactly friends, and they didn’t really talk, but there was a camaraderie in being outsiders together. They were a quieter kind of allies, since complaining seemed like a luxury neither could afford. He was dead on his feet and miserable, doubting everything he thought he’d known since his escape from the First Order, but he was still somehow holding himself together against the harsh conditions, isolation, and abuse, and keeping up in training, albeit barely.

Still, he couldn’t maintain the facade forever, a fact which became clear when they were brought to the flight deck and told to get into suits for the first time. Finn could handle the orange flight suit and weighty communicator around his neck just fine, but as he held the helmet between his hands, he was unable to put it on. His awareness narrowed to the bruises aching beneath his heavy flight suit, a dull throb that added a percussive element to the sounds of the flight deck. He was frozen, stuck, sure he was going to be sick on the hangar floor in front of everyone. He couldn’t do anything, couldn’t break himself out of it. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. It was just a helmet. He knew that. But he also hadn’t put one on since he’d left the First Order, since Slip had died smearing blood across his face mask. He had recurring nightmares about a helmet he struggled with but could not get off. He knew that wasn’t going to happen to him, knew it wasn’t a Stormtrooper’s helmet. He could even see that the front was mostly open. Still he couldn’t force movement into his body.

Everyone else was suited up and the S.O. was screaming in his face. There were threats, the whole group of them would be punished if he didn’t fall into line, he’d be kicked out of training, he’d get the shit beaten out of him. Still, he remained frozen. His heart pounded in his ears and the world went white. When he came back to himself, he was on the ground with his forehead pressed to the asphalt and his knees tucked up under his chin. The pressure against his forehead was reassuring, comforting. Still, his body felt as though it might shake apart if he moved, and he was still painfully aware of everything as a possible threat. He had the sense from the stiffness in his body that a lot of time had passed and he stayed very still as he tried to reorient himself to his surroundings. His face was wet. Someone was talking to him, harsh and short, there was the nudging of a boot in his side. “Get up.” Finn did as he was told unfolding himself and getting to his feet. He was shaking all over. The helmet was laying on the ground, forgotten, presumably where he’d dropped it. Apparently a nervous breakdown was not something the S.O. was equipped to deal with, or particularly concerned about, and so he had chosen to ignore it, until the others were leaving the hangar and the first flight lesson was done. All of Finn’s fellow trainees were shooting him wary looks, like they might be infected with whatever was wrong with him if they got too close, but he felt detached enough from the world not to mind. 

On the way to chow, Geatsi pulled him into a refresher and made him splash some water on his face, shifting from foot to foot in discomfort or impatience or both, before leading him back to their group. Finn had the vacant sense that shame and humiliation were coming, but let himself linger in dull detachment for the moment. He had no idea how he got through PT that night but he did and was absurdly grateful for the familiarity of his bunk when he was finally allowed to collapse into it. He even slept soundly enough that he didn’t hear it when his young friend slipped out of the room on a mission that could end both of their careers as pilots before they began. 

Geatsi was relatively conspicuous even before taking his Cadet uniform into account. Geatsi was half-Lannik half-Human and seemed to have inherited an unfortunate conglomeration of features from both sides of his heritage - giant protruding ears, a short stature, a shock of red hair that stuck out in unruly tufts, and a galaxy of freckles across his nose and cheeks. His heart pounded in his ears with every step as he ducked around the corridors looking for someone who he had absolutely no business talking to in the best of circumstances. This was not the best of circumstances. The young Cadet idolized Poe Dameron. Really, what young aspiring Rebel soldier wouldn’t? He was brave and daring and if the stories were even half-true he’d pretty much saved the Rebellion one-handedly. Geatsi could recognize him even by the back of his head. They were in a hallway, mostly empty to the Cadet’s good fortune, somewhere between the officers’ quarters and the Rec Room.

“Sir!” It didn’t occur to Poe that anyone might be looking for him in the hall at this hour, and thus he didn’t turn around. “Commander!” caused Poe to pause and raise an eyebrow, though, looking for the source of the noise. “Commander Dameron!” a kid he didn’t recognize jogged into view, and Poe smiled indulgently. His reputation had begun to proceed him since Starkiller Base, and he was no longer shocked by the errant admirer. 

“Something I can do for you, kid?” he asked. The youth was wearing a uniform with the marks of a trainee, so he had to be of age, but he looked young even for a Cadet. His cheeks still held their baby fat, but his jaw was going square and a little stubbly. _Ah youth_ Poe thought with mild amusement. Poe wondered if he knew how Finn was doing, but didn’t want to embarrass Finn by asking.

The kid looked momentarily torn, like he might be losing his resolve. “I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to be bothering you,” he admitted guiltily. 

“You’re not bothering me,” _at least not yet_ , Poe thought wryly, “And anyway I’m not going to narc to your S.O. You got a question about the battle or somethin?” Poe guessed. The kid relaxed a little.

“No. I mean yeah, but that’s not why I came looking for you,” he confessed. “You’re Finn’s friend, right Commander?” he asked. 

Poe felt a rush of anxiety. He nodded. “Yeah, that’s right,” he agreed. 

“I know I’m not supposed to go around my S.O., sir. But he’s not doing so good, and I thought, I thought someone ought to know. Finn, he’s. . .not right. I got a kid brother who is like him, quiet and stuff gets to him and I don’t like to think of anyone beating up on Danii for that. It isn’t Finn’s fault he got all messed up and he’s a nice guy really,” the kid continued to stammer. Poe felt cold with dread. He’d had a bad feeling the last time he’d seen Finn and was naturally protective of the man, but he also knew he had to be careful not to let his personal feelings influence what he did with his own rank. Finn was a grown man undergoing an intense training process. Giving him the freedom to experience its ups and downs was important. He had faith in Finn, and allowing him to do this on his own was Poe’s way of proving it.

“Who is your S.O.?” Poe asked. 

“Master Sergeant Tagdan, Sir,” Geatsi answered immediately. 

Poe nodded sympathetically at that. The guy had a reputation for being a jerk, but that wasn’t uncommon among the trainers. There were a lot of reasons someone might go after a training position. Yet, anyone who had ever spent more than five minutes as a recruit had harbored the private bitter feeling that their trainer went into it because they got off on making people miserable. That didn’t necessarily mean that anyone had been treated unfairly. There was a reason why trainers put their recruits through the ropes. It made them better soldiers, even if they didn’t always enjoy it. 

“Yeah, I've heard he’s a hard-ass, but we all go through that. You know training’s supposed to be a little tough on everyone. Finn’s a strong guy. What makes you think he’s not okay?” Poe asked. His voice sounded foreign to him, harsh and alien in his throat. He already suspected that he was not going to like the answer. He’d known something was off the last few times he’d seen Finn, but he’d been trying the best way he knew how to be supportive from a distance. 

“He woke up shouting a few times then quit sleeping so much when some of the other trainees told him to shut it. We all got our call signs, and they aren’t. . .” Geatsi shuffled his feet and looked around at everything but Poe. He seemed to be searching for a word that didn’t make it sound like he was calling his S.O. an asshole and came up with nothing.

“I mean mine’s Bug, which is pretty bad. But the S.O.’s been calling him some number and he just gets this dead look in his eyes when it happens and well after a couple weeks he started getting sick like puking and the shakes and stuff, and I been cleaning his tray in the mess for days. And he freezes up sometimes when the S.O. tells him to do stuff, and then the S.O. punishes everyone and says it’s cause the Traitor can’t get in line. Most people just glare at him and leave him alone, but there’s a couple that are real rough on him, hitting him and stuff, I mean the S.O. did it first so I guess they figure it’s okay. I told him he should report it, but he said no. And I guess, there’s really no one to report it to. Today he had a fit or something and it was scary to watch. I. . .I don’t think he’s gunna make it to the end of training,” the kid recounted, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot. Poe agreed; this was bad. His fear was balanced with anger, a righteous indignation that anyone in the Resistance would take it upon themselves to victimize Finn, who had sacrificed as much as anyone for the cause. The calculated cruelty left him impotently enraged.

“What’s your name, kid?” Poe asked. Some of the anger had bled into his tone and the boy’s eyes widened in alarm.

“You said you wasn’t going to rat on me to my S.O.,” the kid whined, going pale. 

Poe’s demeanor softened. “I’m not. You did the right thing taking a personal risk to protect a member of your squad,” Poe informed him. “If you’re even a halfway decent flier, I want you in the first round pick for my squad, once you’re out of training.”

The kid’s eyes swelled like saucers in his face, making his freckle-marked cheeks even more pronounced. His mouth hung open a little in sheer surprise, and he seemed to need a moment to remember and utter his own name. “Geatsi, Sir.” The kid blushed so red that the freckles that dotted his cheeks nearly disappeared in the flood of rouge.

“Alright, Geatsi.” Even the name sounded young. Poe wasn’t entirely certain what he’d gotten his team into, but there were some things that couldn’t be taught, and heart was one of them. “I don’t want to put Finn in any more danger. So it’s probably best if you don’t tell anyone we spoke,” Poe advised.

“You gunna help him?” the kid asked earnestly. 

“Yeah, kid, I sure as hell am,” Poe agreed. Geatsi looked relieved.

“Is Tagdan givin’ you a hard time too?” Poe asked gently.

“Nah, no more’n anyone else. I mean he doesn’t like me but it’s nuthin unfair,” Geatsi reassured Poe immediately. This made him even more certain that Geatsi was a good pick. Poe had given him a perfect opportunity to get out of training and still earn his wings and he’d passed it up. Poe nodded.

“Alright, thanks. Listen, if I give you a message can you pass it on to Finn?” Poe asked, getting a sudden inspiration. Geatsi nodded enthusiastically, excited to complete a task for the great Poe Dameron. 

“Sure.”

“Tell him, tell him I’ll be waiting for him on the flight deck tomorrow after lights out. And uh, that I’m taking good care of Shylo,” he added, hoping that including the bit about Shylo would tell Finn the message really was coming from him directly. 

“Is that all, Sir?”

Poe thought it over. “Yeah. You’re gunna make a good soldier, kid, I can tell,” he added. With that Geatsi was off, positively glowing with pride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact about this chapter: The scene between Geatsi and Poe was written before Actualization ended, and it was sort of the seed of an idea for a sequel and the start of Trainee.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finn and Poe meet clandestinely. It's not what either of them expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was really great to read all your comments. Everything is edited and updated through chapter 8. Thanks [foolyoulovesomehow](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/foolyoulove)! I've written chapter nine and a bit of chapter 11, which includes a new character that I'm excited to introduce. I hope you enjoy the latest contribution to this saga. Please keep the comments coming.

Finn was half-asleep and retching up bile and what might have been blood when Geatsi found him in the refresher the next morning. Geatsi waited impatiently until he was through. Finn leaned heavily on the sink and splashed some water on his face. He felt dizzy, ill and tired, but not disconnected from reality like he had yesterday. He couldn’t say for sure whether that was an improvement. He knew he’d freaked out on the tarmac yesterday, and the thought that he would be faced with that helmet again today made his chest feel tight and his hands shake. He momentarily wondered if he’d have to go another round with his stomach. There was embarrassment that the others had seen him lose it yesterday, but he couldn’t remember most of the event, which helped ease the shame some. Meanwhile, Geatsi was practically dancing around the refresher with a manic sort of energy that should have been illegal this early in the morning. 

“Hey man, you listening to me?” he was saying. 

“Not really,” Finn replied. “What’s the matter?” 

“I was saying I talked to your friend last night, the pilot” Geatsi was keeping his voice intentionally low, a sort of emphatic stage whisper which would have been no help at all, except they were alone anyway. 

Finn considered exactly which pilot Geatsi might be talking about and rapidly narrowed it down to one. He’d never mentioned any friends but Poe, not wanting to give his tormentors any additional ammunition against him. “You saw Poe? When? How?” Now the kid had Finn’s attention for real, and the combination of the news and the water had woken him up in a hurry.

“Look, it doesn’t matter, okay? What matters is he gave me a message for you. He said to meet him on the flight deck tonight after lights out.” Geatsi grinned a toothy grin at Finn like a faithful pet that had just delivered a precious parcel. “He was shorter than I thought he’d be, but he was nice, just like you said,” Geatsi observed, clearly starstruck. “Oh wait, there was one more part, to the message I mean, he said. . .oh right, he said he was taking good care of Shylo - whoever that is.” 

Finn stood stock still, taking in the message. There was the initial joy that Poe wanted to see him, but it was quickly drowned out by doubt. After all this time, Poe wanted to see him now? Why now? Was he sick or something? No, Geatsi probably would have said if he had been. He wondered with horror whether Poe had heard about what happened to him on the flight deck and wanted to tell him off about it. Poe had vouched for him, after all, and if he fucked up in training it would make Poe look bad too, wouldn’t it? But then, there was the thing about Shylo, and Poe wouldn’t have included that in the message if he was cross, would he? Poe had never held his panic attacks against him before, but then Finn had never been a trainee pilot before. Finn didn’t know what to think. 

Maybe, he thought desperately, maybe Poe wanted to give him a hug and tell him everything was going to be okay, and to just hang on a little bit longer to the end of training and then he’d be done with this forever and they would be teammates for real. Or perhaps Poe would confess that he wanted to be with Finn in that desperately personal way the others had described, and that he couldn’t bear to wait until Finn’s training was done. _It probably wasn’t that, Finn thought bitterly, _since Poe wouldn’t want to do that with a traitor, especially not one who couldn’t even put on a flight suit without having a fit.__

__“You’re going to meet him, aren’t you?” Geatsi asked expectantly. In his confusion he’d completely forgotten that Geatsi was there, with all the unspent energy of an unguided missile. Finn wondered if Geatsi had gotten any sleep last night at all._ _

__“Yeah, of course,” Finn replied glumly._ _

__“So who is Shylo anyway? Is she a friend of yours or something?” Geatsi asked._ _

__Geatsi obviously didn’t know that Shylo was a stuffed child’s toy, and Finn wouldn’t be the one to tell him. But the question also made something ache deeply in him. He didn’t really know who his friends were anymore. Not being able to guess at Poe’s motives, not knowing whether Poe was privately disgusted with him or just another person lying to him threw everything in his life into doubt. How could he trust anyone if not Poe? “Yeah, she might be my only one,” he replied, with a grimace, wrapping his arms around his aching, burning middle and heading back into the dorms. He dressed in silence, Geatsi throwing nervous glances at him, like he might come apart at the seams at any moment or suddenly explode. He wasn’t sure that Geatsi was wrong._ _

__Something about knowing that he was going to see Poe that night allowed him to tear himself away from the bunks, even with the threat of the helmet and another panic attack hanging over his head. He couldn’t focus at all in his academic subjects. He went through PT with the perfunctory mindlessness of someone who had been doing it practically from birth. Thankfully, today was a simulation day rather than another day on the flight deck. They’d spend a week or two trading off, one day practicing on the sims then the next in the cockpit, before switching purely to flight. Yet, even in the simulated cockpit Finn’s distraction led him to blow up his own X-Wing and to take another pilot out with him in a careening collision that painted the simulated sky a truly colorful shade of orange-red. He had to excuse himself for another round of dry heaving after he got out of the simulation, the stress and whirling around in his fake cockpit having driven him to illness. He wasn’t the first Cadet to get motion sick from the simulator, but for Finn it was a personal low. Apparently, that got him excused from meals, a small mercy, and he didn’t need to throw any fights to get knocked down during sparring practice. Finn could barely stay on his feet._ _

__When the lights went out it took long minutes for him to drag himself out of the dorms. He headed down the hall, heart doing double-time with his steps. All the doubts about why Poe might want to see him returned full force, with his brain supplying a few new ones he hadn’t come up with earlier in the day. It was all but abandoned when he arrived, except for Poe, who was pacing the deck like a man possessed. He looked up when Finn entered, though, with an expression of profound relief. Poe smiled and started toward him, then froze as he instinctively drew back. The smile melted off his face and his brows knitted together. Finn clung to the door frame._ _

__“Hey, I’m glad you’re here,” Poe said softly, like he was talking to a spooked animal. “You want to come inside? It’s just us.”_ _

__Finn took a cautious step or two closer. Poe swallowed hard. “I know some of what’s been happening to you in training. I didn’t before, and I’m so sorry, but I do now. I want to help. Okay, I don’t know how exactly, but whatever you tell me you need me to do, I will. I’m here now.” Poe said softly._ _

__Finn blinked hard, watched him. “Are we still friends?” Finn asked, his voice sounded choked out of him._ _

__“Of course, always,” Poe answered him. He looked like the question hurt. “I’ve kept my distance, buddy, ’cause I didn’t want to get in the way of your pilot training, but I’ve always been in your corner, one hundred percent.”_ _

__Finn turned away from him, put his palm to his forehead. He felt terrible, confused and dizzy. Being this close to Poe wasn’t helping. “I don’t know if I can believe you. I’m having trouble with what’s true. But, I really want to believe in you,” Finn said heartbrokenly. He turned back to look at Poe, expression searching. Poe’s eyes were watery, like he wanted to cry but was trying hard not to._ _

__“Okay,” Poe said, in a hoarse whisper, nodding, and wiping roughly at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Okay, we’ve figured out what’s real and what’s not real together before. We can do it again. We will. Just come here. You don’t look so good. Come sit down, okay? We’ve got all night to work it out. I’m not going anywhere,” he promised._ _

__Finn didn’t come any closer. “I don’t understand why it's like this. Stormtrooper training was about making us effective soldiers. It was bad but it was never. . .” Finn looked like he might lose his composure and seemed unwilling to finish. “You asked me to come here because you know what happened, don’t you? It’s only a matter of time before they ask me to do it again and I can’t do it. I can’t do what they’re asking me to do. I thought I could, but I can’t.” Finn was breathing hard again clenching and unclenching his fists. He didn’t seem to notice he was doing it._ _

__Poe looked lost, and Finn was confused because Poe had to know about the flight deck, didn’t he? “Finn, breathe, okay? Just breathe, nice and slow. You don’t have to do anything.” Poe was easing closer to him, and Finn put his hands up to defend his face. It was the last conscious thing he remembered before the greyness ate the edges of his vision and the floor came spinning up sickeningly to meet him._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, hope you enjoyed the cliffhanger there. This chapter was on the short side but the next one will be considerably longer. Stay tuned for next week. Thanks for reading.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out of the hands of enemies and into the care of friends, Finn starts to sort things out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Upon request, and really because the last chapter was fairly short, I'm putting this one up a week early. Please enjoy. Also please let me know what you think in the comments section.
> 
> Thanks to [foolyoulovesomehow](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/foolyoulove) for the beta editing.

When Finn came to, the room was spinning and he was aware that he was going to be sick, imminently. He forced himself over onto his side, holding onto whatever was under him, because he had a strong suspicion that he might roll off the planet. Something bitter rose up his throat with a series of painful heaves, and he discovered it was definitely blood when it spilled onto the floor. “Oh shit!” he heard someone exclaim, not one of the recruits, but familiar somehow - a man’s voice, deeper than Poe’s. 

Then hands were wiping at his face with something cool and their owner said “easy” to him in a soothing tone when he tried to pull away. He knew those hands, a woman’s, thin fingers, all calm professional movements. Probably medical, then. He felt a pinch in his arm and minutes later he decided he really didn’t care where he was, because his muscles had gone all warm and loose, and the spinning had taken on a decidedly pleasant quality. He might have slept after that, or just floated in a drug-induced high. Either way, he didn’t much mind.

Poe and Snap were sitting by his bed when he came fully awake, or out from under the medicine the doctor had given him. Poe got to his feet. “Hey, you’re up,” he observed. “You feeling any better?” 

Finn took stock of his body. To his surprise he did feel a little better. The dizziness was mostly gone and the nausea was back down to a manageable level. “I think so,” he answered.

“You gave me a bit of a scare there,” Poe admitted. “Glad to have you back.”

Finn started, seeming to remember something important, and sat up faster than was wise. He went ashen and reconsidered just how over the dizziness and nausea he actually was. “What time is it? What about training?” he asked.

“Try not to worry about it, okay?” Poe reassured him.

This seemed to worry Finn all the more. “Shit! They’ll know I left the dormitories. I missed the morning, didn’t I? I. . .I’ll go back and apologize. I’ll make up whatever I missed. I’ll do double PT, whatever they want,” he said.

“Yeah, there is not a chance in hell we’re letting that Drill Sergeant get a second crack at you. Not when he almost killed you the first time. Sorry. It ain’t happening,” Snap chimed in, in a tone that brooked no argument.

Finn looked devastated; he felt devastated. His shoulders sagged as though someone had cut the invisible strings that had been holding him up all this time. He wrapped his arm around his knees and stared into the middle distance. After everything he’d gone through, he’d failed. It felt like his world was coming to an abrupt and terrible end. He didn’t know when training had stopped being about becoming a pilot and started being about just finishing, about proving that he could absolve himself of his life in the First Order by taking whatever abuse was dealt him here, but it had. Now there was no absolution for him. There was no pilot’s welcome waiting for him at the end of this nightmare. There was no place for him at all. Poe put a hand on his shoulder and said softly, “If you still want to fly, we’ll find another way. Everything’s going to be okay, Finn.” 

“Everyone else could take it,” Finn said sadly, shame in his voice.

“Everyone else hasn’t fought in a war. Besides, the Sergeant isn’t gunning for the others, not the way he was gunning for you,” Snap told him.

“I have more to prove than them. The others didn’t give aid to the enemy.”

Snap and Poe exchanged a look that promised retribution on whomever had put those words in Finn’s mouth. Someone was going to pay for this. “Finn, whatever they said to mess with your head, you haven’t betrayed anyone. You are a good man. You’ve done the very best you can. More than anyone could have asked for. You are already one of us, whether you have wings or not,” Poe soothed him. 

“It’s true,” Snap agreed.

Finn shrugged and rested his head on his knees. 

Thankfully, Doctor Nemes chose that moment to come by and check on him. “Well the place just wouldn’t be complete if one of you two wasn’t getting himself blown up or run down or sliced in half,” she joked sardonically. “So, how’s the latest?” she asked with a sort of tired exasperation she kept loosely in check. Poe wondered again how she’d gotten into this line of work given her interesting bedside manner. It was lucky she worked with soldiers and not on a children’s ward or something. 

He shrugged. “I’m okay,” he answered. She gave him a flat, unimpressed look. 

“Now really, I expect that sort of thing from him,” she said giving Dameron a glance, who offered an innocent ‘who me?’ sort of look in return. “But you should know better. The truth, if you’d be so kind,” she retorted, clearly unimpressed, but unwilling to be too harsh with her usually cutting wit, given her patient’s present emotional condition.

“Dizzy and a little sick, but better than before,” he replied. 

She nodded and looked at him seriously, taking his wrist to check his pulse and scanning him with a little handheld device that chirped almost pleasantly. “Finn, you came in so dehydrated that it was damaging your kidneys. We had to give you a blood transfusion. If you let it get this bad without seeing a doctor, you can do permanent damage--or worse. Do you understand me?” she asked.

Finn nodded, and tightened his grip on the bed a little. Next time he was having kidney failure he’d be sure to notify someone sooner, he decided. The absurdity of the situation undercut her admonition just a little.

“How many days were you throwing up blood before I saw you?” she asked with a tired sigh.

“Two. . .well three at the most,” he answered. 

“Alright. You developed an ulcer in your stomach lining. With all the bruising to your midsection, I can understand why the pain didn’t tip you off that something was wrong, but vomiting, and especially vomiting blood, should have been a sign that it was long past time to ask for help,” she told him. “We’re going to get you all patched up. But I’m keeping you here for a couple of days at least. I want to make sure that there’s no backsliding I am not immediately aware of.” 

Finn nodded. He had nowhere to go back to anyway. He was no longer a trainee, so he had no right to the bunk in the dormitories, nor did he much want to be there. He didn’t know where he stood with Poe. He wasn’t sure if he belonged in the room that they shared anymore. Medical was probably the best place for him at the moment. “I’m going to grab some of your stuff. Anything in particular you want?” Snap asked. 

Finn was grateful. It would be nice to have some of his own things. He missed having Shylo to hold onto when things got rough. He was practically counting down the moments until he could wrap the well-loved toy in a tight embrace and run his fingers through its fur. “The thing Jess gave me,” he said at once, a little embarrassed, and glad that Snap seemed to know exactly what he was talking about without needing to ask. “Maybe some civvies. In the top desk drawer there are a couple of sheets of paper with writing on them and some blank ones, whatever’s in there and a pen. A book, if you can find one. All my bathroom stuff is still in my bunk,” Finn realized with a frown. 

“You got it. Don’t worry. I’ll get your stuff from the bunks too,” Snap assured him, before taking off.

“When’s the last time you ate?” the doctor asked, already knowing she was not going to like the answer. Finn had obviously dropped weight in training. It wasn’t too unusual with the increased exercise regimen, though generally not to such an alarming degree.

“I don’t know, but I don’t think it’s a very good--” Finn began.

“Not loving that answer,” the Doctor interrupted him. 

“You know the drill, we’ll start with the easy stuff, and it’s okay if you can’t keep it down, but you have to keep trying every couple of hours until you do. I’ll have someone bring you something to get started with. I understand you have a friend in the kitchen who’s been clamouring to see you anyway,” Doctor Nemes informed him. 

The reminder brought him an unexpected rush of pleasure. How had he let himself forget about Meeko, who had been a true friend to him, almost like family? No matter how bad things had gotten, Meeko wanted to see him. Even though the thought of food turned his stomach sour, he nodded, accepting. _Well played_ Poe thought, giving Nemes an appreciative look.

Then it was just the two of them alone, him and Poe. Finn didn’t know what to say to him and the hand on his shoulder felt unusually heavy, almost restricting. He shrunk in on himself more and Poe got the message and let go with a frown. “Finn, about what you were saying on the flight deck, I don’t know if it’s because you were sick or if you really meant it. But I meant what I said, I’m still your friend. I don’t know what they said to you there to make you think otherwise, but I care about you a lot. Those promises we made each other, nothing’s changed, at least not for me,” Poe told him softly.

“Poe, why didn’t. . .Why weren’t you straight with me about sex?” Finn asked.

Poe creased his eyebrows, remembered all those times he’d almost started this conversation and decided not to. He remembered when Finn had not wanted to get his uniform wrinkled and the offer to suck him off that had been on the tip of his tongue. But he didn’t want to put pressure on Finn to rush into things he wasn’t ready for, just because he thought Poe wanted or expected them. Now, Finn had learned who-knew-what and drawn his own dangerous conclusions. This wasn’t the way that Poe had wanted to do this.

“I didn’t want to pressure you or rush you into anything. I mean, it was only months ago that you had your first kiss. Do you know how many years it was between when I had my first kiss and when I first had sex? Seven. Seven years to learn and experiment and figure things out. You have radically different life experience, Finn. I wasn't trying to disrespect you. I just wanted to protect you from, I don’t know, from myself, I guess,” Poe offered, somewhat abashed. 

“You knew I didn’t know what our options were,” Finn said. “I thought there was something wrong with me because I wanted something I didn’t understand.”

“I wish you told me. I wanted it to be your choice, something we did for the right reasons.” Poe explained.

“You mean the reasons you approve of,” Finn said darkly. “You limited my access to information to control my choices. How’s that any different from when I was a Trooper?” Finn snapped. Poe backed up a step like he’d been physically hit. He looked sick and at a loss for words. Finn pressed the advantage. “I don’t know that this place is any better than there. Here, there, they both have some good people and some bad people, and a bunch of people who only tell you part of the truth. If you don’t want to be with me because of where I’m from and what I did, I wish you’d just tell me,” Finn said bitterly. 

“I thought you knew me better than this. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give you. I don’t care that you were a Stormtrooper. I don’t care if you ever become a Rebel or a pilot or a soldier. But I do care if you think I’m not worth your trust. Finn, think about the time we’ve spent together, everything we’ve been through. Maybe I should have told you sooner, but if you really think I’m like them, if you really think you can’t trust me, then we’ve got a problem,” Poe replied, the hurt bleeding into his tone, imploring, almost pleading.

Finn put his face in his hands, not looking at him. “I don’t know, Poe. I don’t know who to trust.”

There was a beat of uncomfortable silence. “I’m going to take a walk. I’ll be back, okay? I’m not leaving, I just need some air,” Poe offered sounding tired and hurt, stoic for all that lay roiling underneath. “You gunna be alright?” he asked.

“Yeah, fine,” Finn agreed. The argument had taken everything out of him. He just wanted to curl up with Shylo - the one unquestionable constant in his universe. 

Not long after, Snap dropped off the duffle bag he’d taken with him to training on the bed, presumably repacked with his things. He thanked Snap for bringing it by. The pilot looked a little confused and asked where Poe had gone off to and Finn explained vaguely that they argued and Poe left to get some air. Snap frowned, “You okay?” he asked. 

Finn nodded. “I really wish people would stop asking me that,” he replied.

“Okay, well, I’ll be back later,” Snap promised, taking off just a little too quickly to pretend the exit was casual. Finn was pretty sure he was going after Poe. He was grateful for that. No matter how he felt, it was impossible not to see just how hurt Poe had been by their argument, and Finn hadn’t wanted that. In any case, the man should have a friend. He felt better knowing that Snap would look out for Poe until he calmed down. The quiet was welcome, as Finn was left not in an oppressive silence, but with the soothing familiarity of the sounds of the medical wing. 

As soon as Snap left, and he was alone, Finn unzipped the bag and pulled Shylo off the top. It was such a relief to hold Shylo close, breathing in the familiar scent and nearly squashing the stuffing out of it with his vice grip. Still clinging to Shylo with one hand he turned back to the bag that Snap had brought him. He might as well change into some comfortable clothes. He pulled the curtain and dug into his collected possessions. There were a couple of comfortable sets of clothing, his dopp kit, the papers from his top desk drawer, about a month’s worth of pleasure reading, and something carefully wrapped in paper, which he hadn’t previously counted among his possessions. 

He drew out a change of clothes and the paper parcel. Once he’d changed, he opened up the package and about a dozen mismatched items fell out - a collection of colorfully-wrapped sweets, a few credit chips, and poker chips - none of which had been his previously. He turned the package over in his hands and a note in Jess’s scrawled hand fell onto the bed - 

_To Finn,_

_Get Well Soon._

_From,  
Your buddies in Black Squadron_

He smiled despite himself. Gifts were something he still had little experience with. Even possessions remained a relatively new concept. The idea that someone would go out of their way to give something up continued to surprise him. The others had done this especially for him, to make him feel remembered, he supposed. It was a nice tradition. He quietly regretted that he hadn’t had anything to give Poe when he was in the med unit not so long ago.

Yet, he still couldn’t dismiss the nagging thought. If Jess or Snap or Poe was a recruit whose S.O. was going after one of the trainees, would they have stood by silently just like nearly all of his fellows had? Would Snap have thrown a punch after hours when a sparring match didn’t go his way? It was almost impossible to imagine the gentle guy who knew all about what his name meant, and got absurdly excited about the intricacies of board games, and brought him his stuff when he really didn’t have to, would do such a thing. But how could Finn know? Maybe Anderson and Kent and the others behaved differently outside of training too. Had his friends been similarly tested? They’d made it through training, so if they had they must have passed this terrible test to an S.O.’s satisfaction. How could Finn ever be sure about any of them?

He suspected he was being unfair to the others. After all, there had never been a Stormtrooper in training before. There had probably been no reason for an S.O. to single out another recruit for this kind of special attention. Still, he didn’t know how to fit what he knew of his friends with what he knew of the trainees he’d spent nearly eight weeks with. He wished there was someone he could trust to explain this to him. He wished that he could forget the last two months and go back to playing Galactic Expansion with Snap, Jess, and Poe like before. He wished that things could be that simple again, but they weren’t.

Glumly, he collected up the gifts and put them back in the paper parcel. He got comfortable on the cot that he’d spent enough time on to almost think of as his own, and cuddled Shylo close, letting the predictable surroundings lull him into a light sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe invokes an old promise; Finn gets some answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wonderful response to this fic has been so exciting. Chapter 11 is basically done. Chapter 10 is mapped out in my brain. I'm still continuing to write with your much appreciated encouragement. Thanks for the comments. Please keep them up. It's really fun (and enlightening) reading the responses.
> 
> As always a big thanks to [foolyoulovesomehow](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/foolyoulove) for editing.

When Poe came back he was slept, showered, and shaven. He looked more composed and still smelled faintly of soap, but the effect was disrupted by his ill-fitting, unsure expression. “Can I. . .do you mind if I sit for a while?” Poe asked. 

Finn shook his head. “That would be alright,” Finn agreed. Poe sat in the chair, looking uncomfortable, like he wanted to be closer but knew he wasn’t welcome. The silence curdled the air between them.

“Did Snap manage to track you down yesterday?”

“Yeah, did you. . .you sent him after me?” Poe asked.

“No. It’s just. . .it was pretty obvious where he was going when he left.”

“Oh.” Another agonizing silence. Finn took one of the poker chips he’d been gifted and started playing with it. 

“Will it bother you if we talk about yesterday?” Poe asked.

“No,” Finn answered.

“It was wrong not to tell you Finn. I’m sorry,” Poe offered.

Finn shrugged. “It’s okay,” he replied. He didn’t know how to explain that the hardest part wasn’t that Poe hadn’t been up front with him but that he hadn’t understood why. The doubt was what weighed most heavily on him, and made everything else feel shaky and uncertain. Information was the only weapon Finn might have had to defend himself, and Poe had forced him into battle unarmed.

“It isn't. You remember those things we agreed on all those months ago? I’m invoking the third one. I messed up. You told me so. I’d like to try to make it right,” he suggested. Finn set down the chip and eyed him warily. If Poe thought that trying to get physical with him right now was going to make anything better between them, he was sorely mistaken. “That monitor on your arm, the one that gives the heartbeat readout, take it off a minute, okay?” Poe requested.

“Poe, the Doc’s not gunna like that,” Finn warned.

“I’ll give it back before she catches on, promise,” Poe assured him.

Warily, Finn removed the monitor and handed it over to Poe who attached it to his own finger with a swift, fluid movement. The steady beeping continued, displaying the rhythmic beating of Poe’s heart. “There are a few ways you can tell if someone’s lying. Their heart rate speeds up, their pupils expand, they sweat, and in my case I bounce my left knee - don't tell the guys at cards that, okay?” Poe asked a little sheepishly.

“I’m here, Finn. Hooked up to the best lie detector I can give you, a heart rate monitor, all the tells I’m aware of, and your own two eyes. I can't promise to answer any question you ask, some things are classified, but if I can't or won't answer anything you ask me I’ll tell you so straight.” Poe promised.

Finn stared at him, taken aback. He knew what Poe was offering him and it felt all wrong, like he was a psytech or something. Asking Poe anything when he was splayed open like this felt dirty, not the sort of thing he wanted to do to someone he cared about. Yet he had two choices: to tell Poe he didn't need this or to ask the things he wanted to know. There were questions Finn needed answered.

He gave Poe a searching look. Seconds stretched as Finn raged with internal conflict. Then he chose option number three. “Not like this,” Finn said finally, breathing freely again. As soon as the words were out he knew he’d done the right thing. He held out a hand so Poe could return the monitor. “I have questions I want to ask you, but if you say you'll tell me the whole truth, that’s enough.” Finn decided.

When Poe passed off the monitor his hands lingered over Finn’s tenderly. “Thanks,” the word felt heavy with things unsaid.

Finn relaxed a little and gave a slight motion with his head inviting Poe closer. At that the pilot seemed to sag with relief and perched himself on the edge of the bed, close enough to talk privately.

“Was I sent to training to get me out of the way, because I was underfoot with the Command?” Finn asked. It seemed as good a place to start as any.

It was Poe’s turn to be surprised. This wasn't the conversation he thought he’d be having. He’d been prepared for a sex ed lesson and a lot of personal reassurance that he wanted Finn in any way he could get him. This obviously wasn’t that.

“No, and honestly if the General wanted you occupied and out of her way I doubt you’d be asking that question. She’s one of the best tacticians I’ve met in my life. I mean, she was the youngest Senator ever in the Galactic Empire. She’s scary good at getting people to do what she wants. If she wanted you inert but occupied you’d probably think the Resistance had you on the most important mission in the universe,” he admitted. 

Finn mulled that over for a minute. He didn't know if it was true but he believed that Poe believed it. “There were times I kept you from flying,” Finn said contemplatively. It wasn't really a question.

“Yeah, a few,” Poe admitted warily.

“I kept you from being places you should have been, doing things you could have done,” Finn continued.

The observation looked like it had hurt Poe’s feelings somehow. “It was my choice,” Poe told him, “and I’d make the same ones again.”

“When I was training, though, you didn't have to choose between being with me and being in the fight,” Finn concluded.

“Finn, I haven't had a decent night’s sleep in two months. There isn't a single day that’s gone by that I haven't missed you. I’m a better guy when you’re around and that extends to everything. If you don't believe that, ask my team. I haven't exactly been a pleasure to work with the last few weeks,” he admitted, still seeming kind of hurt. Finn couldn’t put his finger on why.

Hearing Poe say that made him feel warm inside, the way he’d felt when he’d been in the kitchens with Meeko and Caroon. It was belonging or something else, something similar but not quite the same. It was nice. He took Poe’s hand in his. He felt painfully aware of his sense of touch, but this was alright, just touching Poe’s hand. Poe seemed to take a lot of comfort in it.

“How much did you know about what was happening in training?” Finn asked. 

“Very little, until your friend told me you were in trouble,” Poe answered.

“My friend?” Finn interrupted.

“Yeah, the Lannik boy. Anyway, I mean I know about the usual training schedules and things, the academics you take, the exercises in PT, the obstacle courses, the flight simulations, the battle simulations,” Poe explained. “I had an idea of the kind of work you’d be doing. I didn’t know that the S.O. was giving you a hard time or that the other recruits were roughing you up. I didn’t know that you were sick or struggling,” he continued mournfully. “You have to know I wouldn’t let you go into danger on purpose without warning you, or backing you up, or something,” Poe implored him.

“That’s not exactly what I want to know,” Finn admitted. “When you were a trainee, did something like this happen to anyone in your training group?” Finn asked. 

Poe frowned. “When I went through training, there were a few trainees in my class that didn’t finish. One couldn’t keep up with the physical requirements, he was retrained as an engineer. Another couldn’t get a handle on flight, kept crashing in the simulations, and washed out, went back home to Endor, I think,” he said, his forehead wrinkling as he tried to recall the others. “There were a few others who had a hard time in training who were a little slow to take to things, but to be honest we kind of pulled together, I guess, and even the couple of people who were having a tough go of it did okay in the end. Some of them went on to be real good pilots. Karé and Iolo even came with me when we broke with the Navy,” Poe offered. “I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

“Poe, I need you to tell me that you weren’t complicit in anything like this when you were in training,” Finn said, looking away from him. “I need to know that you and Jess and Snap and the people who are our friends didn’t stand by while a Drill Sergeant publicly humiliated someone or beat up on anyone in the dormitories after hours because they had a bad day,” Finn told him. There was an element of pleading in his tone. Finn held Poe’s hand tighter, his eyes on their joined hands. “I want you to tell me that it didn’t happen.”

“Finn, look at me,” Poe told him seriously. Finn looked at him, with a desperate kind of hope in his eyes. “It didn’t happen,” he swore. Poe squeezed his hand back. “It didn’t happen,” he repeated slowly, each word heavy and solemn, because deep down he wanted to believe that Finn already knew the answer, and just needed to hear it from him again to convince himself of its truth. “We helped each other as best we could in training. Snap and L’ulo were in training long before me but I bet they’d tell you the same and Jess and Karé and the others would lose their minds before they’d stand by and watch an S.O. behave the way yours did. We never would have let it go down like that, Finn. Never.” 

“Why did they?” Finn asked sadly.

“I’m sorry pal, I just don’t know,” Poe admitted.

They sat there together quietly with the sadness hanging between them. Poe wanted to wrap Finn in a protective embrace and shelter him from the outside world, but he knew it would hurt more than it would help just now. A lot of time passed before Finn spoke again.

“What else are you protecting me from?” Finn asked cautiously, “Is there anything else you haven’t told me?”

Now it was Poe’s turn to look stricken and fall silent. He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand and seemed not to know how to get the words to travel the gap from his brain to his tongue. He swallowed convulsively. Now Finn knew there was something else and he was wary and nervous. Yet, Poe’s hesitance also made him sure that whatever answer he got was going to be an honest one, no more obfuscation. Poe finally set his jaw bravely like someone who had just decided to go on a suicide mission.

“I love you,” he said. “I have for a while, and I haven’t said it for a lot of reasons. One of them was not to put any more pressure on you. But there it is,” he offered, almost defensively.

Finn didn’t know how to reply. “Oh,” he managed, and was pretty sure that was the wrong thing to say. He had a full range of emotions but often didn’t know how to classify them, what to call them. He didn’t have even the whisper of a notion of what to call his feelings for Poe. Relationships were still so confusing. He felt so much for Poe, but with only a few months out from under the thumb of the drugs and no relevant life experience for comparison it was all a terribly tangled mass in his chest. In any case, he was afraid to cheapen something like love with the unfounded assumption that he was capable of it. He wasn’t sure of the right way to respond. But he couldn’t well answer this demand for honesty with a lie.

The silence had stretched too long. “I don’t expect. . .I know it’s different for you,” Poe admitted, sounding tentative, the brazen daringness gone from his voice. 

“Poe, you have to know I care about you every way I know how,” Finn floundered desperately.

“I do know that,” Poe reassured him, looking slightly comforted by that admission. “It’s okay, Finn,” Poe reassured him. “Ask me another one,” he requested. 

Finn could tell that he wanted off the subject. Except it was really the last question he’d had. He reached for something, anything to offer Poe as an escape hatch and found himself admitting “I don’t think I can be a pilot,” before he’d really thought about it.

Poe, grateful for the change of topic, seized on it. “What changed?” Poe asked.

“I couldn’t put the helmet on,” Finn confessed, his eyes fixed firmly on the place where the blanket covered his knee. “We were suiting up on the flight deck and the S.O. was screaming and threatening and I swear I’d have let him break every bone in my body before I put it on. I froze. I just couldn’t move. I blacked out. I’m sorry. I really wanted to fly with you,” he said the ache audible in every agonizing word.

“Finn, you did your best, in some real bad circumstances. You have no idea how proud I am of you. If you still want to fly, we’ll figure it out. You’re not the first person who couldn’t wear the helmet,” Poe promised him.

“I washed out,” Finn said.

“The Doc made the call to pull you out. It’s not the same thing. You think I don’t know you would have stayed if we gave you half a chance? We failed you on this one. Not the other way around,” Poe assured him.

Finn looked like he wanted to say something more, but wasn’t sure. Poe ran his thumb over the back of Finn’s hand in a soothing motion, trying to silently will the trust into him. Finally Finn flushed and gave voice to his question. 

“What they said about us, there’s really nothing to it?” Finn asked. Poe thought back, tried to pinpoint just which potential falsehood had gotten under Finn’s skin enough that he had to ask twice, and Poe knew which one it was without having to ask.

“Finn, when you decide you want to have sex I will be nothing short of overjoyed. I assure you,” Poe said with a laugh, and a hint of a genuine smile. “I still hope you’ll wait until it feels right. But whenever you decide you want it I will be an enthusiastic participant. You have my word on that,” Poe promised him. Finn felt far more at peace with the world than he had before.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Food & Family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was a lot of fun getting back to these characters after they've been in the background for a bit. I hope you all find reading this bit of lightheartedness as enjoyable as I found writing it. There will be a few old faces and some new ones in the next couple of chapters. Thanks so much for all the comments. As always it's been a blast reading them.
> 
> Thanks to [foolyoulovesomehow](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/foolyoulove) for the beta editing.

Doctor Nemes roused him sometime in the afternoon. “It’s time to get up, you need to try and eat something,” she instructed him softly. He groaned and rolled over, trying to convince her in a stream of half-conscious mumbled logic that later would be just as good a time as now. She had been rousing him at intervals and forcing him to sip on water, which, experience told him was just as likely to come back up as it was to stay down. He was not enthused about the prospect of another round, and for once he hadn’t been dreaming anything at all.

“Finn, none of that, your friends are here,” she said, trying to make the prospect sound as enticing as she could manage. With a sigh he sat up and ran a hand over his eyes, to clear any remnants of sleep from them. He found that while his stomach was still painful, and his bruises still ached, the dizziness was entirely gone. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and was greeted with the welcome sight of Meeko, trailed by Caroon, who was carrying a tray almost their own size. 

Just the sight of the two raised his spirits. Caroon carefully tipped the tray onto the bed and pushed it until it was safely balanced before offering a shy smile and a friendly wave. Meeko patted Finn’s knee fondly and clambered up into the chair intended for visitors. Caroon started climbing up onto the bed with Finn and Meeko gave them a playful swat on the leg. “It’s alright,” Finn assured the chef, who allowed Caroon to continue climbing unimpeded. Caroon sat cross legged at the end of the bed opposite Finn, the tray between them, like an offering, or a gauntlet.

“Look at you, I’d ask what they’ve been feeding you in training but I run the kitchen and I know that you’ve no excuse,” Meeko tutted fussily “You’re all skin and bones again, and you’d made so much progress.” Finn flushed under the scrutiny. 

“I got sick, it happens,” Finn assured his friend. “I’m sure you’ll have me fattened up like a roast torguu in no time,” he said with a roll of his eyes. 

“That I will,” Meeko assured him with apparent delight at the prospect. Meeko introduced each item on the tray with an artist’s pride - warm space carrot stew that smelled deliciously of a creamy, nutty spice he didn’t recognize, a little plate of hot bread topped with an even layer of a sunshine yellow spread, an effervescent cup of a clear steaming liquid, and to Finn’s absolute surprise, a meiloorun fruit cut into six neat slices. “Wow, Meeko, this looks amazing,” Finn said, genuinely impressed. This was special treatment in the extreme, he knew. Even in the mess they wouldn’t be eating meiloorun fruit tonight, and normally medical wasn’t known for its cuisine. 

“Eat up, Ziek,” Meeko prompted him sternly, with a tutt, when he’d spent a few moments too long ogling the food instead of eating it. Finn hesitated a moment longer. 

“Listen uh, if I. . .you know. . .have any trouble. . .it’s not a comment on the quality of the food. I mean my stomach’s not the best right now,” he said, feeling his ears get hot and rubbing the back of his neck. The last thing on earth he wanted to do was vomit up Meeko’s best fare in front of the chef and their helper. 

Meeko waved a hand dismissively, “I think my _tender feelings_ can survive your stomach ache,” Meeko assured him with a fond sarcasm that suggested Meeko found the warning an amusing aside. Finn couldn’t help but laugh at that. Meeko was kind-hearted, sure, but they also had some of the thickest skin Finn had ever encountered. Caroon tapped the tray twice, right next to the plate of fruit and then touched their chest, giving Finn a proud look. “You made the fruit?” Finn asked, pulling the tray closer. Caroon beamed and nodded. “Wow, it looks delicious! How about you share it with me,” Finn suggested, picking up two delicate slices and handing one to the child. Caroon took it hesitantly and they both ate. He offered one to Meeko too, but they gave him only a disapproving look and a polite refusal. The melon almost dissolved on his tongue, soft, rich, and succulent. Finn sighed with delight and sampled the tray’s other offerings. He found that the items were easy on his body, the soup’s creamy base even helped to soothe some of his stomach’s ire. 

Meeko kept him entertained with tales from the kitchens and whatever other gossip he’d missed in training. Eating was far easier when he was distracted by the fine company. Still, with the soup only a third gone, barely a bite of the bread eaten, and two sad slices of melon remaining, Finn couldn’t bear another bite. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. It’s delicious Meeko, really, it’s just this damn ulcer,” he sighed. Meeko stood and collected the tray, setting the tea, fruit, and bread aside for him to eat later and clearing away the remains of the soup and utensils. They patted him fondly on the cheek in that way that always made Finn feel cherished. “No harm done. You’re a good boy,” Meeko told him fondly, brushing aside his apologies. “Now the Doctor says you need a special diet until this stomach ache nonsense sorts itself out. So Caroon will be bringing you your meals and if you don’t eat up I will know and I will come by expecting an explanation,” Meeko told him sternly. 

“Very well,” Finn acquiesced obediently. It was hard to argue with special meals hand-prepared by the chef and delivered by his young friend. It was a true master stroke on the part of the doctor, but Finn found it difficult to be cross given how nice it was to see his friends.

“Oh and if you want to come back to the kitchens while you figure this soldier business out,” Meeko waved a hand airly, clearly not thinking that pilot was the be-all-end-all in terms of profession like most of the others did, “You are always very much welcome, my boy,” Meeko informed him warmly, collecting Caroon and the tray and leaving Finn in much improved spirits. No matter how Finn felt about the Resistance after his training he couldn’t find anything in his heart but affection for Meeko and Caroon. He never would have met them if he hadn’t come here.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snap considers Finn's candidacy as a pilot and gives the General a bit of advice. Sometimes he wishes he could keep his head down and his mouth shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay guys! The new chapter is now up. I hope you all enjoy it. Please let me know what you think. Comments are great fun to read.
> 
> Thanks to [foolyoulovesomehow](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/foolyoulove) for beta reading.

Medical was great when it came to serving its purpose, but for a man who was alert, awake, and not in unbearable pain, it got tiresome quickly. Finn couldn’t help but suspect that Doctor Nemes was keeping him here longer than was strictly necessary partly out of spite. He couldn’t hold it against her too much, not when she had been so good to him on so many occasions, but it didn’t stop him from getting antsy and impatient. His friends were endeavoring to keep him occupied. They came with stories and decks of cards, food that was enticing and easy on his stomach, and all the good cheer they could muster. It had grown quiet in medical and he and Snap were alone, playing what felt like their hundredth hand of a two-player card game.

“I hope you won’t take it as an intrusion, Finn, but I read your training file,” Snap confessed as he put two cards down and absently examined his new circumstances in the game. Finn looked up at him, mind no longer on the monotony of the game.

“What were you looking for?”

“To be honest, I was trying to parse out your abilities and get a sense of your potential. It’s not exactly common knowledge, but I trained one class of new pilots,” Snap admitted. 

Finn had to stop himself from physically recoiling. “You?” he breathed, and it sounded terribly like an accusation. 

Snap looked chagrined and shrugged. “I busted up my knee playing a pretty rough game of smashball. The General was livid. Anyway, while I was doing rehab on it, I was put in charge of a group of recruits. She said I’d get myself into less trouble if I had something to do other than physical therapy while I was grounded. But, to be honest, I think it was pure punishment for being a right idiot. Really, it was okay, but I didn’t enjoy it all that much,” Snap admitted. 

Finn considered this. “So you had to be tough on them?” Finn asked carefully.

“Carya’s Soul,” Snap cursed in shock, “I didn’t beat them up if that’s what you’re asking. I mean I did the tough love thing, sure. You know the first couple of weeks you have to make them hate you a little. Soldiers won’t always get to take orders from someone they like, and when you’re in the heat of battle as a commander, you don’t always have the opportunity to ask nicely. They need to be prepared for that. So I made them run laps and run drills, and I dared them to quit about a thousand times. I didn’t give anyone a scrap of praise until about a month in,” he shrugged. “It could be rewarding work if you’ve got the right temperament for it,” he shrugged, “It’s all a little showy for me. I’d just as soon reserve pulling stunts to the cockpit.” This set Finn at ease some. “Anyway, your early scores, they’re some of the best I’ve seen,” Snap told him. “Do you still want to fly with us?” he asked.

Finn shrugged. “If I do, I want to have earned it,” Finn conceded. Snap nodded thoughtfully at that. “And I’d want to be able to trust the people I’m flying with. After what happened, I’m not sure how I could do that,” he admitted.

“Those are reasonable things to aim for,” Snap agreed. “I know it’s hard, but try not to write off everyone. Some of the others are not total scoundrels,” Snap quipped fondly, jokingly including himself in the category of rogues. Finn smiled and rolled his eyes finally deciding on the cards he was going to add to his pile and beating Snap soundly that hand, which was a rare enough occurrence. 

Once Poe had returned and Snap had gone back to his bunk to get some R&R he was unsurprised to find an envelope waiting for him addressed in the General’s clean hand. It contained orders to see the General in her quarters at the time indicated. Doing a quick assessment, he realized it gave him just enough time to either take a short nap or put on a clean uniform and he sighed, already knowing exactly which option he was going to choose. He showed up at the door to her quarters, his uniform crisp, clean, and pressed. “Captain Wexley,” she greeted him fondly. 

“General,” he replied formally. 

She gestured at the chair across the table from herself. “There are some things I’d like to discuss with you” as Snap took the offered seat, he noticed Finn’s file was sitting closed on the table between them. Precisely what he’d expected, then. “I have an order for you, and I have a request. Which would you like first?” she asked.

 _Interesting_ , he mused. “The request, Ma’am,” he decided. 

“I am planning to offer Cadet Storm his wings, but in light of what happened he cannot be asked to finish out his training through the usual course. I expect he will require additional time in the simulators, and given your background I was hoping you might oversee that,” she stated plainly. Snap considered this. On the one hand, he understood what she was trying to do. On the other he knew, from spending time with Finn, that such an offer would not be taken in the spirit it was intended.

“May I speak freely, General?” Snap asked. 

She huffed a laugh, “If I thought I could expect anything else from you, Captain, you wouldn’t be here,” she replied. 

“I don’t think Finn will accept his wings on those terms and I expect he’d be insulted if you tried to give them to him that way,” Snap informed her. 

She seemed surprised. “You have another proposal?” she mused, it was only half a question. She had a strong suspicion that he would not have made such a bold statement without something else in mind. 

“I do,” Snap replied thoughtfully. “I think Finn is looking for a rite of passage, and if he’s ever going to be able to trust us, he’s going to need to go through a training regimen with other recruits and have that shared bonding experience,” Snap suggested. She looked skeptical, almost ready to interrupt. He pushed on. “His academics are impressive, and everyone here knows he can keep pace in PT. Frankly, the sims need to be redone, probably all of them, and there’s the issue of actually getting him suited up and into a cockpit. His training group has about seven more weeks on their schedule. I’m proposing that we pull a retired trainer to help him finish alongside his class,” Snap suggested. 

“The way I see it, you’re only solving one problem there, Captain,” she noted. 

“I agree. I think we give him something more to aim for. You know, it’s been ages since we’ve trained special ops pilots. I think we pull together a group of special ops trainees, that’ll start say, eight weeks from now? Give Finn something to shoot for, but it all has to be based on whether his scores meet the same requirements we set for everyone else,” Snap proposed.

The General smiled a smile that made Snap nervous, as though she’d just been given a big gift at his expense. “And I assume you’re volunteering to play the part of trainer?” she said intrigued. 

“Respectfully, no, Ma’am,” he said, just a little too quickly. The smiled slipped off her face. “I’m his friend. If I try to train him, he’ll think I’m giving him a pass whether I am or not. Besides, you know I hate all that Drill Sergeant stuff. I have given it some thought. Desmond might be willing to come out of retirement for a few weeks to train him up. And personally, I think L’ulo would be a good pick for special ops training, but of course, that is up to your discretion,” he suggested. 

“I see you’re content to make work for everyone else,” she noted with mild amusement. 

“I would be pleased to vet the candidates for the special ops training class, and hand pick them,” Snap offered, with a smirk that just bordered on self-satisfied. “You know I’m good for it.” 

“One of the best.” The smile was back, a little more wryly this time. “And that brings us cleanly to the order,” the General began. “We need to determine what will be done with the existing training group. It’s hard to argue that they haven’t been tainted by the situation. I suspect that this will require a full investigation,” she said. “I’m giving you the authority to decide which recruits will continue on, be reassigned, be recycled into a new training class, or be sent packing. However, if so much as one of them comes to any harm I will hold you personally responsible. Do I make myself clear?” she asked. 

Snap set his jaw. This was not a job he wanted. If she wanted to give him five minutes alone in a room with Tagdan no holds barred then sure, but interviewing a bunch of kids who’d been led in a pattern of mean-spirited harassment? It was a pile of shit to shovel through, and while it needed to be done, he wished the task had been assigned to someone else. “Yes, General,” he replied, the grin wiped clean off his face. 

“If you do keep any of them, please see that they get a lesson on our not-so-distant past,” the General said with a sigh. “It’s barely been fifty years and yet these younglings already seem to have forgotten their own history,” she sighed. Snap simply nodded at that. It was perhaps unfair to compare Finn to the troopers who had fought in the Clone Wars. In his own career, hell even before he'd been old enough to officially join up, Snap had fought alongside Imperial Defectors; he counted some ex-Imperials among his own personal heroes. 

The General's voice brought him back out of his momentary rememberings. “Captain, I have one more favor to ask of you. Though this one is not in your capacity as a soldier,” she added. “The man responsible for this situation has been reassigned to keep inventory of munitions on a remote outpost. He will finish out his career in disgrace and obscurity. His direct superior has been busted down to lieutenant. I recognize that Commander Dameron might be looking for a target for his frustration and I hope that as his friend you will help him direct any such impulses in a. . .more constructive direction,” she suggested. 

Snap sighed. Next time he hoped she’d give him a task he actually had a prayer of completing, like bringing her back a distant moon, or blowing up yet another Death Star, or something else comparatively simple. “It hardly seems like enough,” Snap observed.

“It isn’t. But it’s what I can give him,” she said firmly, and Snap knew the discussion was closed. He could read between the lines. Whatever she had chosen to do, she’d done it for the war effort, and Snap wouldn’t argue with that.

Before any discussion was had with Finn about his options, a few things needed to be moved into place. The General was glad that she’d spoken to Wexley before making a tactical error. If everything went their way now, they wouldn’t just have Finn well and on their side, they would have a handful of new pilots trained for special operations. 

When the General came to see Finn in medical, he was packing up his bag and getting ready to go. He snapped to attention as soon as he noticed her and offered a smart salute. She remembered that day, in this very room, when she’d first taught him how to do that and felt an almost maternal flush of pride in the man in front of her. Would there ever be a day when she stopped wishing she’d done better by her boys?

“I’m pleased to see you’re back on your feet, Cadet Storm,” the General greeted him fondly. “Please, at ease,” she requested. “I’ve come to beg your forgiveness, the formality doesn’t feel quite right,” she confessed to him. “Can we sit and talk?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he agreed, waiting until she sat to seat himself.

“I have to make a confession to you. When you started your training I gave your file to a man under my command who was, until recently, involved with the training program. I trusted him, perhaps unwisely, and I asked that given your history of service and your recent injury, that you be provided accommodation if it was needed during training. I did this because I am very fond of you and because you give me hope. I allowed my affection for you to colour my decision making, and because of this you came to harm, I am terribly sorry,” she explained gently. Finn was surprised by this, shocked that she had taken such a deep interest in him, that he of all people had somehow given hope to this impossibly strong woman, and also that she had been the very reason training had been hell for him. 

“The file was passed on to your S.O. and was unfortunately not used for the purposes which I had intended. Tagdan will not be training for us anymore and the man who oversaw him is no longer in a command position. The recruits are undergoing individual assessment to determine whether this is truly the right position for them. It’s a poor apology, but I hope it can be a start,” she offered.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Finn told her, abashed. It seemed like an awful lot of trouble to go to for him when he wasn’t even in training anymore. Yet, it did help to reassure him that this was not common practice for trainers and recruits. 

“It was very necessary,” she said firmly, before broaching the other subject a bit more gently. “I hope that you will still consider fighting with us.”

Finn looked away. “I’m. . .trying to figure that out,” he admitted. “It’s harder because I don’t know how I’d finish my training now that I’ve been pulled out.”

“I have some thoughts on that, if they would interest you,” she suggested. Finn’s head perked up a little. “There’s an old trainer, who has agreed to temporarily come out of retirement to finish your training over the next seven weeks. Generally I would recommend that you take more time to rest and recover, but you see, we will be training a group of special operations pilots, and based on your early scores, you could qualify if you set your mind to it. It’s not a guarantee, mind you, but if you complete your training on time and meet the same qualifying standards as the other candidates, then it will give you the chance to train with a new group of soldiers, to learn to be the best of the best. And I can assure you, we won’t allow the same errors twice,” she promised him.

Finn mulled that over, it was a lot to take in. “You know about. . .about the problem with the uniform?” Finn asked nervously. 

“As part of your training regimen over the next seven weeks you would work with your psychologist regularly. If there’s an engineering solution to be had we’ll explore it, and if not I have confidence in your ability to confront the things that challenge you. If I didn’t see it in you, I would never have even suggested this course,” she told him. 

“You really think I could be special ops?” he asked “Like Black Squadron, like Poe.”

“I know you can,” she replied.


End file.
